


About To Go Boom

by ChameleonCircuit



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, high stress, starisi - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 09:17:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16216052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChameleonCircuit/pseuds/ChameleonCircuit
Summary: He sucks in a slow, steady breath, dropping his head. And that’s when he notices the explosives strapped to his chest, timer sitting at 5:00.His stomach drops, heart seeming to stop completely before thundering back to life at double speed, breath catching in his throat. He feels dizzy with the simultaneous surge of panic and adrenaline, and for a moment he can’t think, brain just fuzzy white noise as his chest heaves.Then the device beeps, number ticking down to 4:59. He struggles furiously against the zip ties binding his wrists, grunting against the sharp pain as plastic digs into his wrist, threatening to break skin.





	About To Go Boom

**Author's Note:**

> Messy and unbeta'd and kinda different from anything else I've ever written?

Peter blinks against the pain spreading across his skull from the back of his head, blinding in its intensity. He can smell mold, and dust, and blood, and his stomach lurches, mouth watering as he fights a wave of nausea.

He blinks again, eyes focussing on the blank cement wall opposite him before trailing across each equally blank surface, a sense of panic building inside him as he realizes it’s just him inside these four walls that seem to be pressing in on him by the second.

He sucks in a slow, steady breath, dropping his head. And that’s when he notices the explosives strapped to his chest, timer sitting at 5:00.

His stomach drops, heart seeming to stop completely before thundering back to life at double speed, breath catching in his throat. He feels dizzy with the simultaneous surge of panic and adrenaline, and for a moment he can’t think, brain just fuzzy white noise as his chest heaves.

Then the device beeps, number ticking down to 4:59. He struggles furiously against the zip ties binding his wrists, grunting against the sharp pain as plastic digs into his wrist, threatening to break skin.

His muscles ache from the odd angle as he struggles desperately, his breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. He cries out in pain as the plastic digs further into his flesh, nausea churning his stomach as he feels the sticky warmth of blood begin to seep down his hands.

He forces himself to stop, forces himself to take a deep breath, to try and relax, to just think for a moment.

Empty walls, empty floor, empty roof. Just Peter, a chair, and a timer slowly counting down to his death.

4:07

He swallows hard, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to come up with some kind of a plan. Anything. Anything to feel like he’s doing something, anything to stop himself thinking about what happens in four minutes.

Sonny comes to mind instantly, head filling with all the things he should have said, the multitude of apologies and thank you’s and actual, meaningful words that he’s been holding back out of fear, out of some misguided sense of preservation, both for himself and Sonny.

Because he knows he’s going to die here. He knows there’s no way to get him out of this situation. He knows that, even if by some miracle someone finds him before the timer reaches zero, his chances are next to none. He has no idea how to defuse a bomb without setting it off, and the chances of someone who knows what they’re doing walking through that door are so slim it’s not worth thinking about.

There’s too much left unsaid.

He struggles again, pulling as hard as he can, ignoring the searing pain as he twists his arms. He’s sure if he can get the right angle, if he can just reach his own hand, he can dislocate his thumb and set his arm free, but it’s no use. After a few moments of blinding agony, vision going white as he tries to push through the pain, he has to admit defeat.

A desperate sob bursts from his throat, hot tears stinging his eyes as his stomach churns and his lungs burn, panic almost consuming him completely.

3:01

The door bursts open and Peter is blinded by light, squinting as he tries to see who’s entered. He feels like he’s suffocating, can’t seem to suck enough air into his lungs, and his head is spinning, pounding, made worse by the burst of light.

“Oh, god,” Sonny mutters, and Peter feels an irrational sense of relief before another wave of panic washes over him and he gasps for breath, lungs burning. “Hey. I got you.”

“You need to go,” Peter chokes out hands grip his face tight, almost too tight.

“You’re gonna be okay.”

Peter takes a deep breath, holding onto the way Sonny’s words manage to calm him, just a little, even though it’s a lie.

2:45

“Sonny,” he says quietly, wishing that he could reach out and touch, squeeze his hand, “you need to leave. Now. It’s too late.”

“No,” Sonny practically whimpers before pulling back to look at the device strapped to Peter’s chest. “No. I can do this.”

Peter watches as Sonny studies the timer, fingers trailing along the mass of wires, visibly trembling. He forces himself to look at Sonny for as long as he can, trying to forget the countdown to his death, trying to pretend, just for a moment longer, like everything might be okay.

Sonny’s muttering to himself under his breath, words Peter can’t quite understand, but he lets them wash over him anyway, lets the familiarity of Sonny’s voice calm him somewhat

Eventually, Sonny frowns, resting back on his heels before looking up at Peter, eyes wide, shining with tears.

“It’s okay,” Peter whispers. “It’s okay, just go.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’re not dying here with me. I love you too much to let you do that.”

“If you go, I go,” Sonny says, suddenly grinning, wide and manic as a tear slips down his cheek.

“Fuck,” Peter hisses, eyes dropping downward.

1:11

“Please.” His voice wavers on the word, throat closing up as tears fill his eyes. “Please. Go. Please.”

Sonny grips his face again, thumb brushing a stray tear from Peter’s cheek as he tilts his head upward. He leans in, brushing his nose against Peter’s before capturing his lips in a kiss, and Peter allows himself to melt into the feeling, to enjoy this one last moment with Sonny before pulling his head back, looking down again.

0:49

“Sonny—" he begins, a soothing calm washing over him as he accepts his fate, knowing he needs to convince Sonny it’s okay.

“Do you trust me?”

“Of course,” Peter answers without hesitation, a frown forming on his face.

“I did a course. Ages ago. I think...it’s gonna blow anyway, right? So why not try and stop it?”

“Sonny—"

“No,” Sonny cuts him off, sounding impatient. “You know me better than that. You know I can’t just walk away.”

He grips the back of Peter’s neck with one hand as the other rests on the jumble of wires.

0:26

“Do you trust me?” Sonny repeats, and Peter stares at him for a moment, a moment he knows he shouldn’t waste, panic slowly curling in his chest once more at the thought of watching Sonny walk out that door, and in a move of cowardice that makes him feel genuine shame, he nods, dropping his head.

0:16

Sonny’s grip on his neck tightens and he’s pulled into a searing kiss, teeth clashing together, but even that doesn’t stop his mind from mentally continuing the countdown.

0:13

Peter can feel Sonny shaking against him, can feel Sonny’s tears hitting his nose, turning their kiss salty, and he belatedly realizes he’s crying too, fresh blood seeping down his wrists as he instinctively struggles against his to reach back, to grip Sonny just as tight as Sonny’s gripping him.

0:09

Sonny’s nails dig into the back of his neck as he pulls back, breathing ragged, and Peter can feel the hesitation radiating off of him in waves.

0:08

“It’s okay,” Peter whispers, surprised when his voice doesn’t falter. “Sonny, it’s okay. You can go.”

“That’s not—“

“It’s not too late. Go. Just run. As fast and as far as you can.”

“No,” Sonny grinds out fiercely, and Peter’s sure he’ll have half-moon scars on the back of his neck as Sonny’s nails dig in further in a way that he’s sure should hurt, but only serves as something to ground him, something to remind him that, at least for the next few seconds, they’re alive.

0:04

Sonny presses his forehead to Peter’s, breathing out a slow, steady breath, and Peter closes his eyes.

0:03

“Are you ready?”

_No._

“Yes.”

0:02

“I’ve got you.”

Peter squeezes his eyes shut, holding onto the pain as Sonny’s nails draw blood from his neck. His heartbeat seems to slow down, pounding loud in his ears, as though it knows it has to make the most of what little time it has left.

He’s sure time stands still as the counter hits zero in his mind. He braces himself, body tensed, though he’s not entirely sure what to expect from being at the center of an explosion. It seems like an eternity that he waits, holding his breath.

But then Sonny’s other hand comes to rest on his cheek, trembling, and the world rushes back into focus. Sonny’s head falls to Peter’s shoulder as he takes in great, heaving breaths, entire body shaking with the effort, and, not for the first time in the past few minutes, Peter longs to be able to touch him, to comfort him.

“I did it,” Sonny breathes out as he lifts his head, eyes wide and shining, face flushed, grin a little manic. “I...fuck. I did it. For a moment there I thought we were gone.”

“You’re telling me,” Peter responds, breathless and lightheaded.

There’s a beat, just a moment of silence, both looking at each other, before they’re both laughing, struggling to breathe. His stomach aches with the effort, and as Sonny rests back on his heels, Peter becomes aware of the prickling pain in his neck, the ache down his back, the burning, throbbing sensation in his wrists that join his pounding headache he’d woken up to.

He relaxes back into the chair, catching his breath, allowing the pain to wash over him, a beautiful reminder that he’s alive.

“Mind untying me now?” He asks as Sonny’s laughter dies.

Peter’s face aches from grinning, and he honestly thinks it might be the best feeling in the world. Sonny’s own grin falters a little, and he swallows, grabbing his keys containing a tiny pocket knife to cut him free.

Peter flexes his fingers as he brings his hands in front of his face to inspect the damage to his wrists. He winces at the movement, arms aching after being stuck in such an unnatural position. Sonny’s fingers ghost over his bloodied wrists, snapping back when Peter hissed in pain, but Peter reaches back instantly, grabs a hold of his hand, squeezing tight.

Standing feels like a luxury as his bones crack and creak, muscles stretching, head spinning again, and for the first time, he wonders just how long he’d been unconscious for. He looks over at Sonny, giving his hand another squeeze.

“You saved my life,” he whispers, before pulling Sonny into a bone-crushing hug.

“S’what I do,” Sonny mumbles into his neck, hugging back just as tight.

Peter pulls back, glancing down at the undetonated explosives behind him, a shiver running down his spine.

“Any chance of a lift home?”

Sonny smiles softly, linking their fingers as he leads Peter towards the door. “Of course.”


End file.
